


Barbershop Blues

by Muccamukk



Category: Band of Brothers (TV 2001)
Genre: Bondage, Canon Era, Dom/sub, Episode: s01e10 Points, Established Relationship, M/M, Orgasm Delay, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Vibrators, period-typical looting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:54:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21788605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muccamukk/pseuds/Muccamukk
Summary: Joe thinks Web needs a haircut, and a few other things besides.
Relationships: Joseph Liebgott/David Webster
Comments: 17
Kudos: 95
Collections: Spicy Advent - Multi-fandom Porn Advent Calendar 2019





	Barbershop Blues

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Spicy Advent prompt: "I've never seen one like that before." I actually wrote a PWP! Hooray!
> 
> This fic is brought to you by finding out that in the 1940s, vibrators were marketed as massagers for barbers.
> 
> Although I do reference the events of "Why We Fight," there are no details included.
> 
> Thank you to Zippitgood for beta reading!

"You need a haircut." Joe threw his arm around Web's shoulders and tugged him in close to his body, ruffling his hand through Web's hair, which really was just too goddamn long for regulation. A fortunate circumstance for Joe's plans for the day, or maybe Joe had been looking at Web's hair all week while they'd sat next to each other in the trucks, itching to do something about it. It had been a long, sombre drive up through the Bavarian Alps to Berchtesgaden, and having something else to think about should have helped keep his thoughts away from...

But now, Web was tense as strung steel, stiff in Joe's arm's, braced for the good smack he likely thought Joe was about to deliver. Not like he didn't have it coming—for what, Joe didn't know but there had to be something Web had done to earn a good smack. It'd been at least a couple hours since Joe had been able to keep an eye on him properly. Web tried to shove Joe off, which just made Joe tighten his grip on Web's scalp. "My hair's fine," Web protested.

"No it ain't." Joe looked him over with the eye of a professional. "It's all over your collar, and almost in your fucking eyes. Malarkey may have put up with that shit, but you're back in first platoon now, and Martin ain't gonna."

The threatened wrath of Sergeant Martin was enough to goose Webster into giving in. He slumped a little in Joe's hold, and muttered, "Fine," like a sulky two-year old.

"Great," Joe said sunnily. "And 'cause we're buddies, I'll do ya for free!"

Webster, for all that he was a blithering moron sometimes, or possibly most of the time, wasn't stupid enough to not see a catch coming there. He tensed again and tried to pull away.

"Come on," Joe told him. "You got the time now, don't you?"

"I guess," Webster granted, he looked sideways at Joe, his hair flopping down into his eyes. Joe had mussed it that way on purpose, and might regret cutting it just a little. It'd been too long since Joe'd seen Webster soaked with sweat and panting for Joe to fuck him just a little harder, hair in his eyes just like that.

"Well come on then," Joe said. He dropped his arm to his side and started up through the narrow street. "We ain't got all day."

Webster's boots echoed up the cobbles as he followed Joe. "Where we going?" He asked, as if Joe was going to spoil a surprise like that. "Isn't your kit back at the hotel?"

"I found something better," Joe told him, then shut up and kept walking.

"What? When?" If nothing else, Webster wasn't a man who quit easy. Anyone else would’ve been able to read that Joe wasn't in the mood for twenty questions, but Web, he just didn't know how to give up. Joe hated to admit that he'd always liked that about the man.

"When I was looking around earlier," he said.

Web had caught up and was striding up hill in step with Joe. The streets of Berchtesgaden were as eerily empty as they had been when the Screaming Eagles had rolled into town. No one here wanted to find out what a couple of enemy infantrymen were going to do with a stray German they found. That was just fine with Joe. He didn't want to find out what he'd do either.

"When you were looting earlier, you mean," Web said, that smugly superior tone creeping in, like he hadn't been looting the same as Joe had. Well, or trying to. It wasn't Joe's fault that half of first platoon was faster on the draw than Webster was.

"Yeah, when I was looting earlier," Joe agreed. "And you're about to benefit from it, so shut up."

They'd gotten to the alleyway Joe remembered, or less an alley in the San Francisco trash bin-ridden place to get shitkicked sense, and more of a little courtyard off the main street. It'd had a cafe once, some of the tables still sitting out, though most of them were in splintered ruins from a stray bomb. The lower windows along the other two sides had boards over the windows, and there were piles of broken glass swept into the corners. All the upper stories were shuttered.

Joe picked a path through the broken cobblestones and shell craters to the shop in the corner. The striped pole by the door was smudged, but still legible.

Webster whistled when he saw it. "Hit the jackpot, did you, Liebgott?"

"Something like that," Joe said, pretending modesty. Webster didn't know the half of it yet.

He'd kicked in the lock earlier when he and Skinny had been casing the place, and it didn't seem like anyone had been in since. Joe wrenched the door open, ignoring how it screeched on its twisted hinges, and bowed Webster inside with exaggerated courtesy.

Web looked at Joe with an expression of extreme trepidation. Joe smiled and followed him inside.

The inside of the shop was a mess of shrapnel fragments and bits of glass that hadn't been swept up by whoever'd tidied the alley. Joe hit the lights, and by some miracle the place lit up. He closed the door and leaned a board against it to keep it shut. Another solid kick would open it up again, but Joe didn't think anyone else had a reason to look in here. "Here, help me out," Joe said, holding out a broom.

Webster rolled his eyes, but leaned his M1 against the wall and gamely started to sweep away the worst of the glass. He wouldn't have lasted an hour as a barbershop boy. He kept missing bits, which Joe only found when they crunched under his jump boots. Leaning his rifle next to Web's, Joe gave the floor a second sweep, clearing up the space around one of the chairs as well as a path to the door.

"Am I sweeping for my haircut?" Webster asked, leaning on his broom like this was the most exhausting thing he'd done all day.

"Naw, you're sweeping so you don't cut your fucking feet, later."

Webster perked up at that. He hadn't been getting any for the last week.

Neither had Joe, for that matter. He hadn't been in the mood, and he had to admit that even an idiot like Web had been decent about letting Joe have some time to himself. Problem was, time to himself hadn't helped him forget what he'd seen, and neither had drinking himself unconscious a couple of nights in a row. So he was going to try something else, and for that he needed Webster sitting in the barber chair.

Joe dusted the leather seat off with a brush, gave the whole floor a critical eye, and gestured for Webster to sit.

"I thought..." Web started to say, but shut up when Joe raised his eyebrows and gave Web his best _what, are you stupid?_ look. "Yeah, okay," Webster grumbled. He sat.

Joe flourished a towel and wrapped it around Web's neck, then spread a cloth over him. He hadn't had a proper set up like this in years, and he took his time running his hands over the scissors and razors on the counter, admiring the scented soaps, the creams, the little pots of this and that. He'd checked it all out earlier, staking out what he planned to loot, but now he wanted to linger. The bone handles and fine steel felt welcoming and cool under his fingertips. He picked up a tortoise shell comb and matching scissors and started in on Web's hair.

"Just like it was before, but shorter," Webster said, apparently under the illusion that he was going to get some say in what his hair ended up looking like.

"Sure," Joe said. He worked through the lines of Web's scalp with the comb, taking his time about it. It was nice to do this in a quiet space without twenty other fellows lining up for a turn. Web sat surprisingly patient under Joe's fingers. He really did have decent hair, not as nice as Joe's, but not stringy or feathery or thin like some of the guys. It was the kind of hair old man Berkowitz had used to say was a pleasure to work with.

Joe started cutting, and Web let his head be tipped back and forth and side to side as Joe willed. Having him so easy and yielding under Joe's fingers was an unexpected pleasure. Joe always assumed that Web was going to be a shit about stuff even when he didn't have to, and now wondered if this sudden quiescence was because Web was used to having people do things for him back home, or because he felt bad for Joe and was trying to be extra nice to him. Joe didn't like how the thought of that tasted, and decided Web's co-operation was likely due to Web wanting to make sure Joe was in a good enough mood to fuck him later.

Webster's hair really wasn't that much longer than it should be, and it didn't take long to do up properly. A small part of Joe always wanted to see what would happen if he gave Webster a deliberately bad haircut, but then he'd have to look at it every day. Besides, the rest of the company would see it too, and know who'd done it, which wouldn't do Joe's professional reputation any good. With all the pay he was sending home, what he earned cutting hair made up the bulk of his booze money.

Joe dabbed the back of Webster's neck with aftershave and wrapped a warm towel over it, then reached for the massager on the counter. It was a new model Joe hadn't seen yet, fitting over his fingers like a knuckleduster, with a bulbous tip projecting off the back of his hand. Joe didn't think it was as versatile as the old wand style, certainly not for some uses, but it vibrated just the same when he switched it on. Holding it this way did make it easier to keep the cord out of the way.

"What the hell?" Web demanded, whipping his head around as soon as the massager started to buzz.

"What?" Joe asked. He grabbed a handful of Webster's hair and tipped his head forward and away so that he could run the massager up the back of Webster's neck. "Those fancy Harvard barbershops don't have massagers?"

"I guess they don't," Webster said, sounding unsure.

"Well then you're in for a treat," Joe informed him. He ran the vibrating metal up the muscles of Webster's neck, moving it in little circles counter to the rotation of the engine, working away at the tension there. It didn't take two seconds for Web to slump down in the chair, letting his head fall forward and sighing in pleasure. "Good boy," Joe said, and let go of Web's hair, patting his cheek lightly.

"This's nice," Web murmured.

"Damn right." Joe started to work up the back of Web's scalp, moving through the freshly cut damp hair. He followed the lines of Web's skull, going slowly, wanting to lull Web into a daze. The man would jump into acid if you asked him to when he was sated and blissed out, and Joe planned to use that to his advantage. He worked the head of the massager around behind Web's ears and then to his temples, while Web moaned softly in pleasure. It was messing up the haircut, but Joe could style that back into place later, after he was done messing all of Webster up. "You like that, huh?" Joe asked.

Webster was too out of it to talk back, he just hummed an assent and let his head drop back against the back of the chair, slouching further down into the seat until his legs sprawled out across the floor. The earlier reticence, and resistance to Joe's touch, had completely melted away.

Joe set the massager aside and rubbed the tips of his fingers over Web's scalp, rearranging his hair as he went. By the time he was done, Web already looked like he'd just woken up from a weekend debouch. Pushing past the barber's cloth, Joe moved his hands down to Web's blouse and started undoing buttons. Web's mouth fell open and he closed his eyes, putty in Joe's hands already. Joe flipped the cloth off and pulled down Webster's suspenders and pushed his shirt off his shoulders.

He had to ease Web forward in the chair to get his blouse and undershirt off, and then keep a hand across his chest to keep him from slumping all the way forward onto the floor. Joe wasn't sure if Web was being a lazy son of a bitch by making Joe manhandle him like a ragdoll, or if he really was that out of it from the massage. When he had Web stripped to the waist, Joe spun the chair around and crouched to work on his belt.

"Really?" Web asked, like the question had just come to him now, instead of a quarter of an hour ago when Joe'd made the crack about bare feet. "Here?"

"Where the fuck else?" Joe demanded, and yanked Web's fly open. He wasn't hard yet, but Joe would sort that out later. He focused on getting Webster's trousers and skivvies off as far as his ankles, then knelt to deal with his jump boots. Webster gripped the arms of the chair and didn't protest further.

When he had Web naked on the chair, Joe picked up Web's blouse and studied it critically. It was the poplin summer wear, and should be sturdy enough to take most abuse. Joe took one of Web's wrists and hitched the sleeve of the blouse around it, tying him to the arm of the chair.

"Oh, come on!" Web protested, though Joe noticed that as much as he yanked at the bound arm, he didn't move the free one, not even when Joe spun the chair around again, looping the back of the shirt behind it so he could tie Web's other wrist down with the second sleeve. It wasn't especially tight, and Web could slid his arms back and forth along the chair arm. Given the right incentive, he could probably wiggle free entirely. Joe considered taping him down while he was at it, or undoing the whole thing and tying Web's arms behind the back of the chair, but he didn't want to risk hurting Web's shoulders when the struggling started.

Joe spun the chair back around so that Web was facing him. "You don't like it?"

"I didn't say that," Web answered carefully. He jerked at his bonds again, but didn't try to wiggle out.

"Looks to me like you like it just fine," Joe observed, pointing his chin at Web's growing hard on.

"I never said I didn't!" Web protested. To illustrate his point, he slid his ass forward so that he was sitting on the very edge of the chair, and spread his legs on either side of Joe's.

Joe stepped back to take in the view. He liked what he saw: Web with his tousled freshly cut hair, a little sweat gleaming on his bare chest, his hands tied down to the padded arms of the chair, and his legs spread wide to display himself to Joe, all that pale skin against black leather, like some kind of damn wet dream. Joe sucked his teeth and considered where to start. He thought about stripping too, but he liked being in his full kit with Web naked and vulnerable in front of him.

"Can't decide if I want to fuck you or fuck you up first," he said.

"Fuck me up?" Webster asked, a note of anxiety creeping in. He tugged at the arms of the chair, but at the same time his hips lifted just a little as he thrust into the air, seeking some kind of contact for his cock. He was already leaking. But then, so was Joe, inside his trousers.

God, he'd never seen someone so hot as Webster biting the inside of his cheek and trying to pretend he wasn't scared and horny all at the same time.

"Yeah," Joe said. "I made up my mind. I'm definitely fucking you up first."

He rustled through the jars on the counter until he came up with some kind of hair oil. It smelled of cloves, and Joe dabbed some on the inside of his lip and let it sit for a minute before dumping it on his hands. The oil tingled a bit, but didn't burn or make anything numb. As it warmed on Joe's hands, the whole place filled with the scent of spices, like a studded orange, warm and homey.

Joe screwed the barber chair up a few steps until Web was in easier reach, then spread the oil across his chest. Joe worked quickly, spreading it over his pectorals and then down his sides, not pausing to play in any of the tender places that he'd long since learned drove Webster crazy. Joe stroked the oil down Webster's ribs and over his belly until it started to spread too thin, then added more, covering his belly and thighs.

Web was watching him with flushed cheeks and and wide, dark eyes, but not saying a damn thing. He probably knew that smart talk was not going to make this go any easier on him. Joe watched his face carefully as he took Web's balls in his oily hand and rolled them in his palm. He loved the way Web's eyes flashed wide and his lips parted into an "O" like he was about to suck Joe's cock.

If Joe'd been the kind of guy who shared anything, he'd have liked to watch Web suck someone off while Joe played with his balls. As it was, he kept toying with them, and watched Web start to sweat. Web rolled his shoulders and tugged at the arms of the chair again, but managed not to cry out. That came when Joe poured more oil on his hand and stroked it up Webster's cock. Web's lips curled back exposing white teeth, and the cry seemed to rip out of his throat. It broke into a squeak when Joe rolled his thumb over the head. Joe thought about just stroking him off right there, wringing every little cry and moan out of him while Joe watched him fall apart, but that would be the easy way out. Joe wasn't especially inclined to let Webster have anything easy right then. Some of the oil was already dribbling down between Web's legs. Joe reached down and rubbed it in. He didn't penetrate Web, not yet, but he circled his fingers around his hole, making sure it was good and slick for later.

"God, please," Web moaned, rolling his head back against the chair. His cheeks flushed bright red, and the colour was starting to spread across his neck and chest. His dick, of course, was already purple and starting to look like it hurt. Giving in to temptation, Joe pushed the tip of one finger inside Web, and had to bury his own moan when Web writhed against him, trying to shove his whole body down against Joe's hand. He was so damn eager already, and Joe had hardly touched him.

Wiping his hands off on the dry skin of Web's calves, Joe stepped back and took another look. Nothing but oil was definitely the best thing for Webster to be wearing. The electric lights glistened on his skin, adding a golden cast to his flush, and the shine of it all accented Webster's lean muscles and the way they moved as he panted and flexed in the chair.

Joe picked up the massager again, taking a minute to get a good hold on it as he slid it over his oiled fingers. It was tricky to turn on with no friction, but eventually he got it going.

"Lieb," Web gasped, and Joe couldn't tell if it was a warning or an inducement. He went forward assuming it was the latter.

"It's okay, Webster," Joe said, "I know what I'm doing." He didn't, not really. He'd thought about using a massager like this, but never actually tried it, but flying on instinct when it came to sex was one of Joe's better skills. Now he was going to take his time and touch all the places that he knew drove Webster wild. He wanted to work him over good, until he couldn't even speak as Joe fucked him stupid.

Joe started at the side of Web’s neck, right over his pulsepoint. Web lifted his chin to stretch the muscles and give Joe more room to work. Joe never would’ve imagined when that little know it all Harvard shit transferred into E Company that he'd roll over like this for Joe, giving him his throat and belly, hard as a rock for every minute of it, while Joe did what he wanted to him. Rather, he'd imagined it quite a few times, he'd just never thought it'd happen.

Joe ran the massager down over Web's shoulder to the soft dent right under his collarbone. He pressed in there and listened as Web gasped and exhaled like he'd been holding his breath for years. Joe could see the hesitation running out of his body as he melted under Joe's touch. Joe circled around, not touching Web's nipple but looping under it to outline his pec, then crossing to the other side of his chest.

"Jesus, Joe," Web begged. "Please."

"What?" Joe asked, he circled back to where he'd started, not touching Web's nipples, but lightly running the massager along the line of his collarbone. The oil made it move smooth and sweet, and Joe knew it was transmitting every vibration across Web's whole skin. "I miss a spot?"

"Come on," Webster protested, but knew better than to try and order Joe around. He'd tried that exactly once, and the case of blue balls that'd followed had showed him why that was just a bad fucking idea. "Please, Joe," Web wheedled instead.

Or maybe Web had been the one teaching Joe, because it didn't seem like there was much he wouldn't do if Webster looked at him with dewy eyes and parted chewed lips like a dame in the pictures, and then said "please" and meant it. Joe let the massager drift down until it played over Web's nipple, while pinching the other one hard and sharp.

"Oh, Jesus, yes," Web gasped, and accidentally kicked Joe in the shin as he spasmed in pleasure. He kept babbling, even as Joe backed away to rub at his leg. At least he'd taken Web's boots off. Should’ve tied his feet down while he was at it. Except Joe would want those legs spread wide for him in a minute. He'd have to get better with his rope work, was all. There should be some way to tie a man spread open so he wouldn't hurt himself or go around kicking his lover.

Not wanting to let Web catch his breath, Joe moved in again, swapping hands, and soothing the purpling pinched nipple with the massager, watching Web groan and roll his head back. He sucked at his lip, then gasped open mouthed and silent as Joe pinched the other nipple. He twisted it sharply, and Web screamed like a kettle, thrusting his hips up again and again, trying to find satisfaction that he was so far from having earned he shouldn't be able to see it yet. Joe wanted to give him a taste of it though, so he stroked Web's cock. It was silky with oil and hot under his hand. He liked the feel of holding it, and liked more how it made Web whimper and stare up at Joe with wide, pleading eyes.

"You want more of this?" Joe asked.

"Come on, you know I do," Web said, far too sulkily for a man who was getting his dick rubbed.

"Yeah, it's been a while, ain't it," Joe said. He kept his hand still on Web's dick and ran the massager lightly down the centre of Web's chest. He paused exactly between the scoop at the bottom of Web's ribs and his belly button, moving his hand in little circles. "Maybe, I forgot, huh?"

When lifting his hips only made Joe take his hand away entirely, Web sighed in exasperation and yanked at the sleeves tying him to the chair. "Come on, Liebgott. You always knew exactly how to get me going, right from the first time. Hell, you know what turns me on better than anybody I've ever been with, better than I do."

Joe blinked. He'd been angling for Web to beg real pretty, not to praise Joe all the way up to the moon. He wasn't sure what to say to that—what anyone could ever say to that kind of bullshit?—so he ran the massager down Web's belly and up his cock. Web howled and would’ve jerked off against the thing if Joe hadn't taken his hip in hand and pinned him to the chair.

"I know you like it when I make you wait," Joe said savagely, and circled the massager down the bottom of Web's dick and over his balls.

"Please," Web moaned, but he clearly didn't know what to beg for any more, just that begging got him the best results. After Joe circled first one sac than the other with the vibrating metal, slick with oil and warm from Web's own skin, Webster fell into incoherent pleading. Joe heard his name, and "please," and a mix of cuss words stronger than Webster usually used. His hips kept trying to push out of Joe's hold, movements getting increasingly frantic as Joe played the massager over his cock again, licking up it like he would with his tongue.

When Joe pressed under the head, Web's body slammed up against Joe's hand. Joe lost his grip on Web's oily skin, his palm slapping against the leather below. Web's hips lifted right out of the chair as his back arched, and he came in spurts across his thighs and Joe's trousers. Web yanked so hard at the chair that the arms creaked and started to twist. His head threw back and his eyes squeezed shut as he cried out in a long, low wail.

The massager slipped down along Web's thigh, and Joe pulled his hand back to keep Web from tangling in the cord. He took half a step back, but then couldn't watch Web fucking himself out into thin air. He took Web's shoulder and rubbed his thumb along the line of his collarbone, where the massager had been minutes before.

Web bent his neck and kissed Joe's wrist hard, his lips sloppy. It made Joe realise they hadn't really gotten to that yet, and he wanted to, so he leaned down and took a handful of Web's hair, tipping his head back so Joe could kiss him on the mouth. By then, Web had stopped coming and was slumping back into the chair. His mouth fell open under Joe's, and he didn't do more than hum appreciatively as Joe explored with his tongue. He was getting the oil in Web's hair and on his own ODs, but it was difficult to care about that with Web spread out under him, tied up and willing to let Joe do whatever he liked to him.

Web's skin jumped and shivered as Joe traced a meandering path down his body with the massager. He gasped as Joe circled his nipples again, too sensitive now, but not willing to refuse a touch. He turned each breath into a little plea for more, just the smallest needy moan, but enough to drive Joe wild. Joe stroked the insides of his thighs, and Web lifted his hips and spread his legs as wide as he could. Come was smeared all over them, and Joe ran the massager over that too, making little swirls in it before moving on and up Web's legs.

Webster cried out in weary but real protest when Joe touched his balls, so Joe let him be there. Instead he twisted his hand so the cord wrapped around his wrist and pressed the tip of the massager to Web's hole. He smirked as Web jerked his wrists again. His body sank further down in the chair as his bare heels skidded on the tiled floor. It broke the kiss, and Joe didn't know if Web was trying to get away or push himself further down onto the massager. It was too bad this wasn't the wand kind, or Joe really would be able to torture the fuck out of Web, who was so sensitive he could barely stand to be fucked after he came that hard, let alone have his prostate played with.

Even just the vibrating metal against the outside of his asshole was driving him nuts. Joe watched the rabid rise and fall of Web's chest with a professional eye. He was perspiring hard, the sweat beading alongside the oil, running down his sides. Joe swept his free hand over Web's chest, messing it up again.

"Are you—" Web had to swallow and suck in a couple breaths before he could get it out right, he lifted his chin in the meantime and looked Joe in the eye like he meant business. "Are you going to screw me, or what?"

"Was thinking about it," Joe said. Rather, he'd been trying not to think about how damn hard he was, but now that Web mentioned it, the strain of his cock against his trousers, the way sweat was starting to stick his shirt to his back were too much for Joe to tolerate. He switched off the massager and set it on the counter. His hands were still oily, making it hard to get his fly open, He pushed his pants down over his hips and ass when he did, then considered the problem of angles. The chair didn't go high enough for Joe to fuck Web standing up, but he didn't want to kneel on the grimy floor either.

Glancing around, Joe found a pillow and figured that'd have to do. The chair dropped pretty low when he unscrewed the stop, jolting Web as it hit the bottom, splaying his legs wide on either side of Joe.

Joe poured the last of the oil over his fingers and pressed two at once into Web's ass. He was so relaxed that he hardly blinked at the pressure, instead looking down at Joe with dazed eyes that were still dark with lust. Joe rubbed his fingertips around inside Web until he found his prostate, then rolled back and forth a couple times just to watch Web squirm. His mouth was still hanging open, and he kept making hoarse gasping grunts, and tugging at his sleeves, which had knotted tight.

"Fuck, you're hot for me, aren't ya?" Joe demanded, and wasn't surprised when he didn't hear an answer. He kept working Web over, fingers sliding in and out of him easily as Web writhed in the chair. Joe bit the inside of his lip to keep from embarrassing himself over how much he loved being able to ruin Webster like this.

Figuring, he had done enough to get Web ready, Joe slicked up his cock and started to push in. Web was still tight as hell, not having anyone to fuck him this last week, but he let Joe inside him just fine. He whimpered a little, and Joe took a deep breath, like he could draw the sound inside of him. He needed those little noises Web made, especially the ones he didn't mean to let out, the squeak at Joe's hand in his hair, the shivering moan when Joe licked his neck, the whimper now, high and sweet and needy.

Joe took Web's hips in both hands to hold him steady, and pressed forward. He could tell when his dick rubbed past Web's prostate because it made him wrap his legs around Joe's hips. Joe wanted to tell Web that if he'd like a fast, hard fuck, then he was going to have to lay off the monkey stuff, but the effort to not come before he was even all the way inside Web was enough to keep Joe from talking. Finally, his hipbones brushed the insides of Web's thighs, and he couldn't move any further.

"So good," Joe muttered, and Web made a pleased noise like he'd just been given ice cream for dinner.

When his cock was settled inside Web, Joe leaned forward and licked a stripe up the middle of Web's chest, tasting the spiced oil mingled with the salt of sweat. He knew that he'd never smell cloves again without thinking of this ruined barber shop in the Bavarian Alps, and of fucking Webster while he begged. Come to think of it, there could be more begging in Joe's life just then. Joe grabbed Web's thighs and hiked them up over his hips, changing the angle so that when Joe pulled out, he'd rub across all the right places. He had to hold Web in place to draw back, as those long legs kept trying to yank Joe back in. Thing was, Joe had both the leverage and the determination to overpower Web, even without taking into account that Joe'd win any fight any day with most of the guys in Easy. Certainly with Webster. Maybe that's why the little shit had found other ways to get what he wanted out of Joe.

Webster whimpered just like Joe wanted, and Joe looked him in the eye, just the tip of his dick inside Web's hole, and said, "You want this, you gotta ask nice."

This would usually be the part where Web would say something sarcastic, then they'd get a few rounds of back and forth in before Joe started touching him the way only he knew how, and Web started giving Joe whatever he wanted just so Joe would keep it up. Not that day. That day, Web looked back, seemingly without a lick of shame in him, and said clear as a bell, "Please, Joe," then, without needing to be told that wasn't enough, "Come on, please. Joe. I need to feel you. I've been waiting all week. Please."

"Fuck," Joe muttered, drawing the word out and accenting the "k" by snapping his hips forward and slamming into Web, who groaned and had the good sense to keep asking for it. Not that Joe could have easily slowed down at that point. The clench of Web's body around him felt too good. He'd been an idiot to let so long go by, when he could’ve been feeling this. He grabbed Web's hips harder, so his hands wouldn't slip this time, and gritted his teeth to stay focused. Already, his heart felt like it was going to pound out of his throat, so fast that his hips couldn't hope to keep up with its time, no matter how fast he drove into Web.

Webster kept wriggling under Joe, tugging his hands against the tied sleeves, like that'd do any good. His heels dug into the small of Joe's back, probably hard enough to bruise, and the dull pain only added to the rush forward to take Web and show him that he belonged to Joe, and no one else. Joe always kept his mouth shut in the moments before he came so he didn't stay stupid shit like exactly that. Webster on the other hand, liked to yack through every second of it. He was still saying please, and that he needed this, and that he'd missed Joe touching him something awful. It was the kind of sweet talk Joe had a hard time believing, no matter how many times a fellow said, especially when it fell so easily off Webster's lips.

Joe had no illusions that you could screw a man until he told you the truth, but he supposed he could have fun trying. And he didn't know anything else that worked, anyway. None of it felt as real as the sharp press of Web's hipbones against Joe's palms, or the way their breath hissed in and out almost in time now. Web cried out every time Joe's balls slapped his ass, and he kept trying to lower his head to kiss Joe, and Joe couldn't let him, not if he hoped to hold on. The heat of Webster's mouth against his would pull him over the edge for sure. It always did. Joe wanted to drag this out as long as he could, to have the whole world turn into nothing but fucking, the slap of flesh on flesh, Webster begging and submissive under him.

With a final yank, Webster wiggled his right hand out of his shirt and wrapped it around Joe's shoulders like he was clinging to wreckage in a storm. Joe let Web pull their bodies together, his face mashed against Webster's chest. Web's sternum dug into Joe's forehead, but his hand was gentle in Joe's hair. He was stroking from the crown of Joe's head down to his neck in a slow counter time to the frantic snap of Joe's hips, like he could soften this, even though at the same time instant his breath was hot in Joe's ear saying, "Yeah, yeah, just like that, just like that," each word pounded out as Joe drove into him.

Joe barely felt the moment before he tumbled into orgasm. His body tightened, and he knew his fingers would leave bruises in Web's pale hips, but the world already felt like it was flowing into Web's body. The whole room vanishing around him, as the only points of contact that existed were Web's ass around his cock and Web's hand in his hair. When he came, it was a release, but at the same time what he'd been feeling already, just that much more.

Joe sighed, slumping forward into Web, and grinned as Web got his other hand free and started rubbing down Joe's spine like he was a cat that needled to be settled. He'd tell Web what he thought of being babied like that, in a minute, once he got his breath back.

"That's right, Joe," Web was babbling. "Yeah, just take it easy, you can rest for a minute, rest right here, that's comfortable, isn't it?"

If Joe had had an ounce of strength left in him, he'd have told Webster to knock it off with that kind of sentimental bullshit, but he didn't really. Talking seemed like more work than it should be, and maybe it was nice to just lie still for a minute, like Webster said, and not have to worry about anything more serious than the fact that his lover sure knew how to run his mouth. He'd always liked the way that Web ran his nails over Joe's scalp, real slow and gentle, and his body was so warm under Joe's that Joe almost regretted that he was still in his ODs. He could’ve had their naked chests against each other, instead of dealing with a sticky, sweat-soaked undershirt and blouse. Joe closed his eyes and settled his face against Web's chest so nothing was jabbing him where it shouldn't be.

Though, as to that, it seemed like if Joe stayed here much longer, Webster was going to want to go again, which meant Joe was, and then they'd just spend all afternoon up here fucking. Joe didn't object to that in theory—had spent a couple 48-hour passes doing exactly that—but he knew if they were gone much longer, Martin would send someone to look for them on the off chance they'd been shot by the SS.

Joe had wrapped his arms around the small of Web's back. Funny, he didn't remember doing that. Joe untangled his body from Web's and rocked back onto his heels. His dick slid out of Web's ass, a mix of come and lube following after it and running down the crack of Webster's ass.

"Could look at you like that all day," Joe commented.

"I wish you would," Web said, voice far too sombre for that moment, or any other.

"Don't have have that kinda time," Joe replied, then tore his eyes away. He stood, wiping off and tucking in again. He'd meant to tell Web to knock it off with the flowery bullshit, but at the last second he couldn't bring himself to say anything that harsh. There wasn't any sense in pissing off your lover anyway. If you did that, they stopped letting you fuck them, and then you had to find someone else. It was definitely too far into this fucking war for Joe to go casting around for another buddy to mess around with.

When he was decent, Joe held out a hand and pulled Webster to his feet. They stood chest to chest for a moment, squeezed into the space between the chair and the counter, noses almost touching. Web parted his lips to say something, and Joe shook his head and twisted sideways and away. Just because he was letting Webster spread his legs again, didn't mean Joe wanted to hear whatever it was.

"Fine," Web muttered, and bent to pick his shirt off the arms of the chair.

Joe smacked his ass lightly, and said, "Aw, don't be like that, Web. You know how it is."

"I sure do," Web answered. He breathed out a noisy sigh, then straightened, abandoning the shirt in favour of getting to look Joe in the eye. He wasn't wearing anything besides his birthday suit and his dog tags, and Joe's come was still running down his thighs, but Web didn't seem to give a shit about any of that. "You don't go steady with a guy for a year and a half without knowing how it is."

"We ain't—" Joe broke off. He was a lot of things, but a liar wasn't one of them. They'd certainly been going, and now that he thought of it, Joe had fallen into a one-guy kind of habit. He'd meant to change things up when Web bailed on Easy because of that scratch on his leg, but it seemed like he'd never gotten around to it. It'd always seemed like Web would be back any day. A year and a half. Fuck. How had that happened?

Webster was fucking smirking at Joe. "Cat got your tongue?" he asked, grin widening as Joe scowled at him. The look of a man who'd finally gotten to use the last bullet he'd been saving, and hit a bullseye beside.

"I'd put you over my knee for that, but I know you'd like it too goddamn much," Joe grumbled. Seemed like the only way he had to actually punish Web also led to giving _himself_ blue balls.

"Sure, Lieb," Web told him. He had the balls to lean in and kiss Joe on the cheek, all affectionate and familiar, like Joe was his damn wife. His lips still brushing Joe's skin, Web murmured, "It's good to have you back."

Joe took a sharp breath and twisted away. He'd thought they weren't going to talk about that, about why Joe had pulled into himself and away from Web. Surely even a dumb shit like Webster wouldn't ask that of Joe. But when Joe could bring himself to look at Web, he was busy wiping himself off, not seeming especially worried about what Joe might be thinking. Joe heaved a relieved sigh and turned away again. Maybe Web wasn't a complete idiot after all, he decided.

Joe listened to the rustle of Web's clothes as he got dressed, and started to hum. He ran his fingers over the tools of his trade as they were spread across the counter and tried to decide which were worth lugging all over however many goddamn countries and oceans the Airborne expected them to cross.

"You're taking that massager thing, right?" Web asked, a little too eager.

"Yeah, sure," Joe said. He pulled the plug and started to coil the cord around it. The metal was still warm and oily from touching Web's skin.

"Anything for me?" Webster teased, pushing his luck.

"You're the one who said it," was all the ground Joe would give, but it made Web laugh, and pretty soon Joe found himself smiling back.


End file.
